


The Inbetween

by The_White_Rabbit42



Series: Home for the Holidays [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, NSFW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 13:06:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13295508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_White_Rabbit42/pseuds/The_White_Rabbit42
Summary: When morning comes, you have no idea where it leaves you and you aren’t the only one.





	The Inbetween

**Author's Note:**

> Shufu is Japanese for "housewife."

You had no idea what had gotten into him.  

 

You’d woken up a few hours before to the sensation of him lazily playing with your hair, fingers softly stroking through the strands.  You pretended to still be asleep, not wanting to leave the warmth and comfort of his arms.  You’d wanted this for too long, and you weren’t ready to face the fact you were likely only there because of a faulty furnace.  

 

Eventually you’d drifted off again and this time when you awoke, he was a completely different person.  

 

He was so  _ stiff _ .  Somewhere along the way, his entire body had gone rigid, and at first you thought he might be having a nightmare.  That was when you realized he wasn’t asleep  _ at all _ .  

 

Your cheeks flared when you thought of the way your legs were intertwined with his, the rest of you clinging to him, giving him no chance to escape and avoid an awkward situation.  You found you still weren’t ready to know, your heart growing heavy at the thought that none of this might actually be real.  So you did what you’d always been good at and avoided it altogether.  

 

You shifted, cluing him into the fact you weren’t fully unconscious.  Everything in him grew even tauter, though it wasn’t until you moved that his hand fell away from where he held you.  You stretched slightly before rolling away, resettling yourself within your blankets and pretending to drift off to sleep once again.  

 

After several minutes of silence and no further movement from you, he quietly crept out of bed, heading straight into the bathroom where you heard him start the shower.  For his sake, you hoped the electricity had come back or that was going to be one cold way to start the day.  You waited a few minutes just to be sure, and when the shower continued to run you finally got up and went downstairs.  

 

Maybe it had been too much.  Maybe you had taken advantage of his kindness to want to see you warm.  Maybe it had just been the alcohol that had made him offer.  Maybe it had nothing to do with you at all.  There’d been something new in his eyes, something almost wild lurking beneath the surface.  Maybe he was simply feeling cooped up.  Stir-crazy.  Bored.  

 

Maybe you needed to stop trying to figure things out before you beat your mind to a stump. 

 

By the time he’d come down for breakfast, whatever tension he’d been carrying had worked its way out of his system.  He’d crept up behind you, like he always did, hovering over your shoulder as he took a whiff of the oatmeal you were stirring.  Instead of simply hovering over your shoulder, however, he stepped up beside you, his side brushing yours as his hand landed on the small of your back.  

 

“Can I have a taste?”

 

Suddenly everything was different.  The timbre of his voice.  The curve of his lips as he smiled at you.  The way he caught and held your gaze, waiting for an answer.  Everything had changed, and yet nothing had, as you handed him the spoon and he went about his routine of sampling whatever it was you’d created.  

 

It only got more confusing from there.  

 

While the furnace was now fixed, Gabriel’s own temperature seemed in need of regulating.  It started with him invading your personal space, his hands subtly finding you with a newfound boldness.  He was particularly fond of the small of your back;  running them along the back of your shoulders, fingers easing over the top ridge as his thumbs swept down and momentarily kneaded at the knots that never seemed to leave.   The briefest touch on your arm or leg would send a jolt straight through you.  Occasionally, you’d feel them whisper over your waist and hips in passing.  

 

Any excuse there was, he was touching you, adding oxygen to a fire that was already far greater than it needed to be.   _That_ wasn’t a problem so much as how one moment he’d be brushing the hair back from your face and the next he’d withdraw, vanishing completely.  It was never for very long, but the sudden switch from hot to cold had your head spinning, and it was happening more frequently now that you were sharing even closer quarters.  

 

_ “You’re  _ **_what_ ** _?”  Your voice echoed through the empty inn, drawing attention to the fact you were now shouting.   _

 

_ “Focus, breathe,” the voice on the other end of the phone coached.  You dug your fingers into the corner of your eyes.   _

 

_ “Roxy…”  You managed to keep your voice even as you ran a hand through your hair.  “I don’t know the first thing about any of this.”   _

 

_ “Sweetie, you kill things that would make most people wet themselves just knowing they existed.  You can handle a few workmen and holiday prep.” _

 

_ Sure, you could handle the workers.  It was knowing what to do with the rest of it - the decisions and organization and domestic duties that had you balking.   _

 

_ “This is because I called you ‘madame shufu’ before I left, wasn’t it.” _

 

_ “Honey, this is for a lot of things, most of which have nothing to do with you.” _

 

_ It was totally the madame shufu comment.   _

 

_ “Look, I gotta go.  Just text me if anything comes up.” _

 

_ “Wait, where are we going to --”   _

 

_ You watched as the call ended, sighing as it reverted back to your home screen. _

 

Your friends’ apartment was nice.  An open living and dining area melded together with just enough room for kitchen appliances on one end and a fireplace and mantel on the other.  A wooden bar separated the two areas, doubling as a place to eat.  At the very end was a bedroom that was a little smaller than the main area, with a bathroom off the side.  It was all very cozy, which wouldn’t have been an issue if Gabriel wasn’t acting so strange.  

 

The real problem was, you couldn’t tell  _ wha _ t was going on in his head.  You didn’t know if you needed to give him space, if he needed more fresh air, or simply a change in scenery.   All you knew was your sanity was going to crumble if he kept this up.  

 

After the workmen arrived, you pretty much kissed it goodbye.  

 

Roxy had said they were coming, and you didn’t need a PhD to know it was to finish replacing the floors.  What she’d neglected to tell you was that it was two separate work crews onsite at two different times, so the job would be done in time for the annual holiday party they held every year on Christmas Eve.  With it being just shy of three weeks away and three stories of flooring to put in, that made for an awful lot of ground to cover… and an awful lot of pounding.  

 

After the first few days you were practically crawling out of your skin, unable to drown out the noise that echoed through the entire building.  It started shortly after the sun came up and didn’t end until nearly midnight each night.  It should have been easy to escape during the daytime.  There were plenty of things to do outside of the house, but  _ somebody _ refused to leave it.  In Gabriel’s defense, it had been unusually cold for this time of year, the temperature dropping well below zero at night and barely getting into the double digits during the day.  Still, there were errands to run, decorations to dig out of the barn, but anytime you mentioned venturing out the door you were met with grumbling whines, sassy remarks, and staunch resistance.  

 

Tonight was the coldest one by far, the chilliness reaching well beyond the walls.  Unfortunately, your friends’ bedroom sadly lacked a fireplace inside of it, making it much cooler than the living area.  You both lay in the center of the bed, huddled together in an attempt to stay warm, while trying to watch classic Christmas movies as the incessant banging droned on in the background.  

 

You almost couldn’t hear either over the hammering of your heart.

 

It wasn’t unusual for both of you to end up curled up to one another anymore.  It happened every night now.  What  _ was _ out of the ordinary is that both of you were awake for it.  

 

Ever since that night, he’d started staying up later than you.  He played it off as having rediscovered some of his favorite myths from the many lorebooks your friends still kept around.  You had a feeling, however, it had more to do with whatever else was going on than his desire to unwind with a good tale.  

 

You didn’t push it.  Even if he was never there when you fell asleep, he was always there when you awoke in the middle of the night.  Most of the time he’d be folded around you, arm wrapped snugly around your waist, holding you against him.  Sometimes you’d have already sought him out, snuggling into his arms with your face against his chest.  

 

You were afraid saying anything might upset what tentative arrangement you shared, and it  _ was  _ tentative considering you never woke to him in bed with you past dawn.  The most you’d been greeted by was partially warm sheets and the sound of a running shower.   

 

You knew you should talk.  He’d asked to, but things felt different now.  Complicated.  All compounded by the fact that whatever it was developing between you both was caught somewhere between normal friendship and beyond.  

 

You could feel it.  A different heat building within you, spilling out across your skin as different parts of you began to flush.  You wondered if he could feel what it was he was doing to you.  Maybe he could and this was some sort of game to keep himself amused.  

 

His hand stroked along your side, making the cadence of your pulse grow more sporadic.  It felt like an absent minded gesture, his fingers likely drinking in the feel of your flannel pajamas more than trying to be intimate.  Yet, how could it be anything  _ but  _ that when your head was tucked inside the crook of his shoulder, your own arm wrapped around him?  

 

Your hand unconsciously closed as you struggled to focus, fingertips brushing along the edge of his shirt, inadvertently catching skin.  His entire stomach tensed, his fingers fumbling to a stop.  You froze, barely daring to breathe, waiting for the tension to release again.  Only it never did, and his hand mimicked yours, curling into a fist and ending all movement.   

 

If it was a game, it wasn’t the usual brand of teasing, and you found yourself still without any idea what to make of it.

 

His legs shifted, the blanket rustling.  Every few minutes he continued to move as if no longer able to get comfortable.  His hips angled one way, then the other, his lower half continuing to twist in different positions.  He never moved the rest of himself, preventing you from becoming dislodged from the wonderfully warm inferno that was his natural body heat.

 

Eventually, he gave up, scrubbing a hand over his face with an irritable sigh.  He dug his fingers into the corner of his eyes, lips pursing tightly.  “The only place I can hear myself think in this place is the bathroom,” he groused.  “I’m going to take a shower.”  

 

That was his third one today.  You debated telling him that taking that many wasn’t good for him, but when you caught the restless, almost chaotic look in his eyes you stayed silent on the matter.

 

“Yeah, sure.”  Your voice sounded strange and stilted as you shifted off of him.  You watched him retreat into the other room, a frown pulling at your lips.  He was right.  It was too much, being cooped up like this with all the noise.  Tomorrow, you decided, you’d get him out, whether he was willing or not.  

 

…

 

Gabriel knew he had a problem.  He was fully aware of the way you looked at him every time you walked away, the gears of your mind turning beneath the worry.  He knew his behavior was erratic and confusing.  What he couldn’t tell, however, was whether or not you’d figured out that his biggest issue was  _ you _ .  

_ He expected to wake up to awkwardness.  Perhaps even rejection.  He wasn’t convinced last night wasn’t just a byproduct of the cold and too much rum.  What he was not prepared for was the way you pressed your body against his when he found you facing away from him and decided it was still way too cold for either of you to be apart. _

 

_ At first he thought you might not be fully awake or conscious of your actions.  A reflex within your muscles and nothing more as he folded himself around you, pulling you close again.  Except it happened again, the curve of your backside pushing firmly against the front of his hips, the slightest wriggle entering the equation as you reached in front of you and gave a casual stretch.   _

 

_ His body’s reaction was instantaneous.  His heart rate began to rise, as did another part of him, and he did his best to try and wrestle back control.  Your back arched, the covers slipping away to reveal the swell of your chest pushing up against the front of your flannel and that want he walked around with flooded him so furiously he knew it was a lost cause.  _

 

_ He tested the waters, palming your waist and encouraging your movements as his fingers dug into the softness beneath them.  He held you still against him, rolling his hips into you, relishing the way it felt.  He hadn’t touched anyone (real or otherwise) since shortly after meeting you, and after all that had lingered upon his return, he was bursting at the seams with a need to slide beneath the surface and to be more than just an isolated being.   _

 

_ You reached up over your head, fingertips gliding along stubble before slipping into his hair.  Your head turned slightly, your temple pressing against his jaw, but not anywhere close enough for him to kiss you.  Your eyes remained closed and he followed your lead, allowing himself to simply sink into the sensations you were eliciting, of which there already were so many.   _

 

_ His other arm slipped beneath you, fingertips taking in the softness of your pajamas before cupping your breasts.  You let out a delicious gasp that quickly turned into a moan as his thumbs brushed over your nipples, causing them to strain against the fabric.  He almost came right then and there from the decadent noises you were making, your lower body grinding back against his with desperate need.   _

 

_ You suddenly shifted away from him, your hand reaching back around to the front of his pants.  You wasted no time teasing at the bulge through his pajamas.  He groaned, hips jerking forward, needing more.  Your hand slipped beneath his waistband, giving him what he sought as your hand closed around his shaft.  The pressure was amazing, and the way you knew which spots to tease had his breath ragged.   _

_ Oh father, he wasn’t going to make it.  He wasn’t anywhere near being inside you and you already had him so close to the edge.   _

 

**_Focus._ ** _  He needed to focus.   _

 

_ He continued teasing the now taut nubs of your breasts before one of his hands made its way lower.  Maybe if he concentrated on you and your pleasure, he could ride this out long enough for you to ride him.  So many of his fantasies involved you on top, him watching your every reaction.    _

 

_ “Fuck,” he grunted, realizing that train of thought was not helping.  He sucked in a breath as your thumb brushed over a particularly sensitive spot, his own hand diving into your underwear.  He took a moment to ease a slow circle around your clit, enjoying the way your hand stuttered, your hips bucking slightly in response.  The best part continued to be what he elicited from your mouth, your teeth biting down on your lower lip as you let out a particularly sweet sound.   _

 

_ He reached even lower, his fingers just about to test how wet you were when -- _

 

_ \-- his eyes snapped open, gasping for air as his pulse exploded in his veins.  His eyes wildly scanned the room, confusion clouding his mind until he landing on your form.  Your head was on his chest, hair spread around you in a halo, framing your face.  You were tucked beneath his arm, yours solidly wrapped around his middle.  Your leg was partially over his, your thigh dangerously close to the part of him throbbing so intensely it was almost painful, and you were definitely, without a doubt, one hundred percent still asleep.    _

 

_ He swallowed, rubbing a hand over his face as he realized none of it had been real. _

 

**_Fuck._ **

 

_ This was not what he needed right now.  You didn’t need to wake up and see him this way.  Not only was he hard, he was pulsating and in desperate need of release.  There was no way the images were going to clear from his mind.  They continued to dance in front of him, the sensations ghosting over his skin, spurred on by the heat of your body pressed against his and your scent surrounding him.   _

 

_ He tried to slip out from beneath you, but the moment he gave you the slightest jostle you stirred.  Your even breaths gave way to a small noise of protest, your arm instinctively tightening around him and his head popped up in alarm, certain that he had awoken you completely.  His eyes went wide as you shifted your leg over him, trapping him and his erection in place as you settled yourself back against him.   _

 

_ He didn’t dare move, monitoring your breath for several minutes after before he unfroze from his position.  Even then, it was only to drop his head back against his pillow in defeat.  _

 

That was days ago, before a sea of workmen washed into the halls, hammering away incessantly well into the night.  Disrupting his sleep.  His concentration.   _Everything_.  It didn’t change the fact that _he_ desperately needed to nail something.   _You_ preferably.   Plan B was to stick one through his eye and be done with it.    

 

He couldn’t keep his hands off you.  You were the only thing he could think about.  The fact that he was on Hell’s naughty list barely registered.  That lingering, empty chill was starting to fade into the background, driven out by touch - his on you, yours alone - even just the thought of physical contact had his temperature soaring.  

 

He was drowning in you.  His senses could never escape the reminder of your existence.  If he couldn’t see you, he could smell you, and the stolen moments he shared at night with your body pressed against his continued to haunt him during the day.  He couldn’t remember being so enthralled by anyone or wanting anything so badly in his entire existence, to the point he was suffocating when with you, but still suffering that horrible sense of loneliness and longing whenever he tried to slip away.  

 

Mostly he just  _ wanted _ .  To know you.  Taste you.  To find out what it was like to be inside you.  To have you pressed against him, skin to skin.  To map the contours of your body, to learn its secret sensitive spots, and to share his with you.  Father, how he ached to know what sinful noises you could make beneath his tongue and teeth and touch, and hear his name fall from your lips in a way  _ other _ than when you were irritated with or sad for him.

 

It wasn’t all physical, however.  He still wanted you to open up to him.  He still saw the pain beneath your gaze, slightly faded, but still fresh.  He wanted to know the source of it so he knew how to help you heal whatever wounds remained.  He wanted to know he could hold you and provide the same comfort you gave him.    

 

He wanted  _ so much, _ and he stood in the shower for the third time that day because  _ you touched his freaking skin _ ; he was becoming increasingly aware that whatever the two of you shared was not a tenable arrangement.  It took everything he had not to grab that hand of yours and pin it down against the mattress along with the rest of you, teasing  _ you _ until you understood the depths of his torment. 

 

But he couldn’t.  He didn’t dare to, yet.  You had a high tolerance for his antics.  Who was to say you weren’t just dealing with him now?   

 

He let out a growl, tempted to bang his forehead on the cold tile against which it rested.  He had never done well with being patient and he clearly did not do well denying himself what he desired.  The frustration that flowed through his veins was spilling over.  

 

He knew he was getting irritable, but it was hard not to feel exasperated all the time when his system was constantly being assaulted.  When there wasn’t external stimuli flying in his face, he had plenty of things rattling around internally that were more than happy to fill the lull.  Even now, the silence grated on him.  He knew he’d have to learn to deal with it, but he didn’t have the energy for that, especially when he felt like everything was already threatening to explode inside of him.  

 

Speaking of which, his cock gave a sudden twitch, reminding him of the real reason he had retreated.  As if he could ever forget about _that_ part of him.  

 

He braced himself against the wall, taking himself into his hand.  He immediately shuddered, the pleasure rippling through his body.  Before he would have taken his time, skimmed his hand down along his stomach, teased his fingers along his thighs, drawn it all out, as he fantasized about you.  

 

He’d imagine you sauntering in, an impish smile on your face as you caught him just wrapping his hand around his member.  “You look like you could use a hand,” you’d purr, and you wouldn’t wait for him to respond, simply dropping to your knees as you took over the task.

 

You’d know just where to stroke him, which spots to tease, and exactly when to add your tongue to the mix.  You’d taste every inch of him before allowing him into your mouth, and by that point he’d be so ready he’d almost be finished.  He’d hold out, though.  Imagining the heat and wetness, how you’d wrap your lips tightly around him, alternating with bobbing just over the tip and taking him into the hilt until he could no longer stand it.  A final thrust and he’d spill himself down the back of your throat, your mouth greedily sucking every drop of him down.  

 

That would only be the beginning.  As a celestial being, he could think about you for hours, prolong the pleasure for just as long, going over in great detail all the things you’d do to him, all the things he’d do to  _ you _ .  Now he was lucky if he’d make it five minutes.  

 

The shower helped prolong it, the temperature of the spray and water pressure helping to distract him.  It gave him a little time to envision something, but not much.  Even with the extra sensations, imagining it was your fingers wrapped around him already had him so close to coming undone.  

 

He knew he should just pretend to use the bathroom instead.  This many showers in one day was highly suspicious, but if he didn’t draw it out as much as he could, there was no way he was going to make it through the night without crossing a line.  He’d like to think you wanted that, that the fact you hadn’t called him on being handsy meant more than you simply indulging him.  

 

Somehow  _ that  _ hit a button just as surely as envisioning you dropping your clothes silently just outside the shower because you’d  _ finally  _ caught on and wanted to surprise him by showing him how much he lit a fire in you as well.  He groaned, his strokes slowing to a more sensual pace that matched the image he had of you wanting to tease him.  The pad of his thumb glided over the sensitive spot beneath his tip and another sound slipped out of his mouth.  

 

Would you drop to your knees as he always pictured you would?  Or would you stand before him, eyes full of brazen mischief as you silently imparted every wicked thing you had in store for him?  Would you take pity on him and kiss him, or would you hold his face back, cupping it in your hand as your thumb traced his lower lip, biting into yours as if denying him was just as torturous, if not more so, for you?  Or would you force him to stand there, hand working him over, as your own hand slid between your legs, showing him just how you wanted to be touched without allowing him to do so?

 

_ Shit _ .  He’d gone too far.  He couldn’t hold back anymore, his pace increasing as he let his mind fully wander at the sight of you standing in front of him, the water glistening off your body.  He began to rock into his hand as he thought of losing control, pushing you up against the wall.  His mouth would dominate yours as his hands roamed over your breasts, cupping possessively before teasing at your nipples and making you writhe against him.  

 

He could feel his desire tightening low across his stomach, his hips stuttering as it finally snapped, white temporarily flashing across the inside of his eyelids.  He let out a series of grunts, doing his best to keep it down as he came across the wall.  His legs became shaky, nearly buckling beneath him and his hand slipped a little as it became responsible for holding up most of his weight.  

 

He made a mental note that while he hadn’t quite hit his limit for how many releases he could achieve in one day, keeping it under five might lower his risk of head injuries.  

 

By the time he’d cleaned up his mess and gotten back into his pajamas, the high had worn off, a deeply rooted drowsiness left in its wake.  Now, all he wanted was to crawl back into bed and fall asleep with you beside him.  The fact that you not only allowed this, but found it as comforting as he did brought a small smile to his face, one that quickly fell when he walked out to find the bedroom empty.  

 

He wandered past the TV which was just playing the credits of whatever movie you’d been trying to watch.  To be honest, he hadn’t caught a single scene, having been too distracted to pay any attention to it.  He heard a voice in the next room, one distinctly not yours  **_or_ ** female.  He hit the off button, his ears straining as he crept soundlessly toward the living area  He couldn’t make out what was being said until he made it to the doorway, and what he heard had him stopping in his tracks.

 

“Look, I know you’re pissed at me.  Us.   _ The world _ .”

 

It wasn’t what was being said so much as _who_ was saying it that caught him off guard, your brother’s familiar voice rising up from what he assumed was your phone.  

 

“I’m sorry I went behind your back, but it worked out.”

 

You were standing at the kitchen counter facing away from him, hands braced against the edge. Your frame radiated with tension, everything tighter than he had ever seen it.  You inhaled, letting out a slow breath as your brother continued to talk.  

 

“They know what they’re doing… most of the time.  You should give them another chance.  Especially the big dumb one.  He sends his regards.”

 

Gabriel moved forward, neither trying to draw attention to himself nor hide his movements.  You were too wrapped up in what you were doing, however, to even notice him.  The room went silent and your hand disappeared in front of you before another message began to play.

 

“Hey, sis, just checking in on you and the giant, making sure the two of you don’t need any backup or aren’t getting, you know, _sidetracked_ … He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named and I just wrapped up a skinwalker case the Brits threw our way.  Mick e-mailed it to us, but still no word from him directly, which, by the way, _doesn’t_ mean anything still.  I found my own case over in Tallahassee, so just meet me there when you get done.” 

 

He stopped near the bar.  Going any closer felt like an intrusion somehow, yet, as he watched your body shudder, your breath stuttering beneath your mounting emotions, he wanted nothing more than to hold you while you finished whatever it was you needed to do.  

 

“Hey, you, I, uh, just wanted to, you know, call and apologize for asking where you hid your tinfoil hat these days and if that was, coincidentally, what you smoked your crack out of.”

 

Gabriel held back a snort.  The kid had always had a way of delivering sass.  He could recall several occasions Tony had even dished it back to _him_ , and your brother always did it in a way that was more good-natured than arrogant.  

 

“I ran into Ketch and it was weird.  Really weird.  Like he showed up claiming to be on the same case, except there’s no way he could know about it.  I’m only here because the police chief from my last case asked if I could help her grandfather move on.  He isn’t a nuisance.  No one’s been hurt.  No one outside the family even knows about him.  Then I thought about what you said, about Ketch becoming Mick’s mouthpiece before the man disappears back to England.” 

 

He didn’t recognize the names your brother mentioned or have so much as a clue as to why either of you would be involved with anyone from that far across the ocean.  He’d been gone for seven years, but it might as well have been a lifetime with all he seemed to have missed.  

 

“I told Ketch the case was his.  I’m headed to Kansas.  I texted Dean.  He knows I’m coming and to call you if I don’t make it, but nothing else since, you know.  Family ties and all.  So call me when you get this, ok?  Because I think you’re right.  I think there’s more going on here than we’re being told.”  

 

You had hit your limit.  Your shoulders sagged, a quiet sniffle breaking the heavy silence left in the wake of Tony’s voice.    

 

“Sweetheart?”  He didn’t want to sneak up on you anymore than he already had.  The way he said the nickname was a dead giveaway, however, as to just how long he’d been lingering.  You hastily swiped at your face, your posture immediately straightening.  

 

“How long have you been standing there?”  You didn’t turn around and it was hard for him to tell how much of the thick edge in your voice was just your feelings surrounding the loss of your brother or if any of that happened to be directed at him for eavesdropping.  

 

He closed the rest of the distance, his hands moving up to your arms where they gave a reassuring squeeze.  “Long enough.”  

 

He knew if he gave you the opportunity you would steel yourself, swiftly stuffing everything back beneath the surface so you could plaster a smile back on your face for his sake.  This time, he didn’t let you.  He guided you back from the counter, turning you around so he could pull you into his arms.   You went absolutely rigid, growing so taut before everything finally snapped and you folded against him with a quiet sob.  Your arms wound around him, clinging fiercely to him, and he tightened his embrace to match the intensity of yours.  

 

If he were still an angel, he would be able to detect every particle of energy that comprised your grief.   Anger was chaotic, each molecule a tiny world of discord slamming into every neighboring universe.  Happiness came with manic pulses of vibrations that settled pleasantly across one’’s being.  Grief, however, was all encompassing, penetrating deeply beneath the surface, worming its way in to every other kind of energy until only it remained.  

 

He’d be able to smell the sadness, in the salt of your tears, in the way your hormones shifted to produce the awful sensations seeping through your chest.  He’d be able to hear it squeezing at your heart, straining the muscles and your pulse to a quicker pace.  He’d be able to pick up every thread of tension choking your vocal chords, coating them thickly with your emotions.  

 

He couldn’t sense any of that now, and yet this was somehow  _ worse.   _

 

Every shudder that tore through you transferred into him.  Every sob and whimper that escaped your lips echoed back inside his being.  As your weight began to ease, it seeped into him, until he felt like pieces of himself were breaking right alongside you.

 

He wished he knew what to say, but anything he could think of seemed inadequate.  He simply held you, imparting what comfort he could.  By the time you had started to settle his hand had found its way into your hair, gently stroking along your scalp, remembering how nice it felt when you had once done the same for him.  

 

_ “Take a seat, feathers,” you ordered, your tone giving him no room for argument.  If it was anyone else speaking to him that way, they would have already been snapped into a dimension where most things came with more than one set of eyes, a hefty set of tentacles, and nothing that required them to ever need to  _ **_take a seat_ ** _.   _

 

_ He hadn’t been this pissed in awhile.  The Winchesters had summoned him, as if he existed at their beck and call instead of as one of Heaven’s most fiercest beings.  The fact he had finally talked you into letting him take you to dinner someplace with more than one star had him bypassing the usual games and immediately contemplating sending them someplace that would take centuries for the idiots upstairs to find them.  The lecture the dynamic duo gave him was expected.  Their insight into his fondness for you was  _ **_not_ ** _ , and the fact that their stupid mouths hadn’t been sealed shut for eternity was a testament to just how much willpower he had.  _

 

_ He folded his arms over his chest, glaring defiantly.   _

 

_ “You don’t have to tell me what happened, but there’s no way I’m letting you leave here primed and waiting for a reason to go off on someone,” you insisted.  You took him by the arm and the only reason he didn’t fight you was because the moment you made contact with him he happened to catch a glimpse of your plan through your thoughts.   _

 

_ The fact you had the bed in mind made for a great incentive.   _

 

_ There were no overtones of want, however, filtering through the flashes he received.  He found that more intriguing than anything, and he couldn’t help but wonder what trick you had up your sleeve as you guided him across the room.   _

 

_ You plopped him down on the edge of the mattress, disappearing onto it somewhere behind him.   “Lie back.”  _

 

_ He did, surprised when his head came to rest on a pillow across your lap.  He stared up at you, brow arching curiously.   _

 

_ Your seriousness cracked as you mimicked the gesture, lips curling up slightly on one side.  “Close your eyes, you creep.”   _

 

_ His lips twitched, feeling the edge of his anger already fading.  As soon as they were closed, your fingers slipped into his hair, the tips easing along his scalp in a way that had his entire body relaxing far faster than he imagined possible.  It had been a long time since anyone touched him this way, the tenderness and care beneath your fingertips as responsible for his increasingly relaxed state as what you were doing with them.  There was nothing sexual about it, and the only desire that hummed through you involved bringing him comfort.  _

 

_ “Mmmm,” he made a pleased sound as you made another pass along the hairline near his temples.  “I could get used to this.” _

 

_ “Massages are pretty relaxing.” _

 

_ Indeed they were.   _

 

_ “I was talking about my head between your legs.”  He cracked an eye, peering up at you to gauge your reaction.  “But the fingers are nice, too.”   _

 

_ You rolled your eyes.  “I wouldn’t get used to either, wing man.” _

 

_ “You know, some might call you a tease, the way you invite a man into your bed then shoot him right down.”  He knew he was pushing it.  Here you were, being a better friend than he deserved, and all he could do was throw innuendo back in your face.  He partly did it out of habit, but there was another part of him that still hoped one day you might actually bite.  _

 

_ You snorted, no doubt about to give his shit right back to him when the door to the motel room burst open. _

 

_ “Hey, I got us some --”  Your brother stopped in his tracks, a plastic dangling mid air from where he’d been presenting it, mouth still slightly open as he took in the scene before him.  “Sis, really?   _ **_Really_ ** _?”  For all the incredulity and disappointment that flashed across his features, you might as well have been caught fornicating with the devil himself.  “You let him talk you into wearing a dress?”   _

 

_ Most people might be worried about the fact their sister was getting cozy with something that had been alive since the dawn of time.   _

 

_ Most people were also smart enough not to bet against said beings.   _

 

_ Tony rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m… going out.  Don’t wait up.”  He dropped his gaze, leveling a final disgruntled look at the archangel before leaving.  _

 

_ Your fingers paused, your eyes staring at the door. “... What exactly did you two wager?”   _

 

_ He smirked.  “Wouldn’t you like to know.”  _

 

In some ways it had been so much simpler then.  He knew what to say or do and if he didn’t, well he could always just snap himself somewhere else for the time being.  He wished he could do that now, take you both somewhere far away from all the trouble that would one day catch up to him, away from all the terrible things that had happened, to someplace beautiful and warm.  To a place you deserved to be.  

 

The days of snapping away problems, however, were long gone.

 

He began to rub your back, his fingers continuing to stroke your hair, and something shifted inside of you.  Your breaths became less ragged as you started to calm, your noises fading to soft, infrequent hiccups, until they eventually stopped altogether.

 

“I’m sorry about Tony,” he murmured when you were settled enough to be able to hear him.  

 

Your voice was thick with lingering emotion.  “I’m sorry about your shirt.”

 

He chuckled, reaching behind you to grab a box of Kleenex from the counter.  He pulled back, offering them to you with a reassuring smile.  “Been covered in worse things, kid.”

 

You grabbed a tissue and even from behind it he could tell you were making a face.  “I… don’t even want to know.”  

 

“No, you really don’t,” he agreed.  He waited until you finished blowing your nose before putting his arm around you again.  “C’mon.  It’s cold out here.  Let’s get back into bed before we freeze.” 


End file.
